


Rediscover me

by VeronicaFerCard



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Original Character(s), Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 11:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6237406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeronicaFerCard/pseuds/VeronicaFerCard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was going to make the Captain happy.<br/>He was going to be James Buchanan Barnes again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rediscover me

**Author's Note:**

> This is a follow up to the events of Cap 2, completely disregarding both AoU and the upcoming Civil War. Also, I’m going with the comics’ canon of Bucky only having one sister and him knowing Nat from the Red Room. None of these characters are mine, and this is all made in the name of fun. Comments and kudos are deeply appreciated. Enjoy!

Steve had about three seconds in which he almost panicked as he was jolted awake by the sudden noise of his bedroom window opening, before he opened his eyes and saw the familiar silhouette standing against the pale blue light coming from the street.

Even in the dark Steve could still recognize the telltale of the way Bucky carried himself nowadays, the weight of the arm shifting his balance as it gave him away.

Steve set up on the bed, making sure his movements were slow and deliberated. He couldn’t assess much due to the poor lightening, but the fact that Bucky was wearing civilian clothes instead of the Winter Soldier gear was enough to put Steve’s hammering heartbeat at ease.

"Hey, Buck," he greeted lightly, trying to act normal in a situation that was anything but. Steve had been chasing cold leads on Bucky’s whereabouts up and down for over a year. And out of the sudden there was Bucky, right in front of him.

Steve was half expecting to blink himself awake any moment now.

But there was no need to worry, though. The harsh tone of Bucky’s voice was all the prove he needed to assure him that this was real.

"You're looking for a ghost. You have to stop," Bucky snarled at him from the corner of the bedroom where he had stopped once Steve began to move on the bed.

The Bucky Steve knew before, the Bucky that started in most of Steve’s dreams, he had never spoken to Steve like that.

"You're not a ghost," Steve argued back stubbornly. "You're alive!" He had read the file Natasha gave him over and over again until every word in it had made permanent residence in his mind. Steve knew Bucky had been through hell and back. Enough stuff had been done to him to change a person completely, but he was not dead.

Bucky didn’t seem to share Steve’s thoughts, though.

"Is that what this is?” Bucky asked angrily, unconsciously approaching the bed. “ _You_... trying to clean your conscience because you didn't save your friend." Now that he was closer Steve could see Bucky squinting suspiciously at him.

He thought Steve was in this for himself.

Something ice cold dropped down in Steve's stomach. He couldn't tell if it was because of Bucky refereeing to himself like someone else, or because he thought Steve was doing this for his own selfish reasons.

"This is not about me," Steve tried to explain better. "Sure, I want you back in my life. And yes, I want you to forgive me.” _God_ , that was the hardest part. He would never forgive himself for not going back to look for Bucky after the fall. Steve averted his gaze. “But I want you healed and safe, more than anything in this whole damn world."

"Why?" And Steve didn't need to see him to know he was frowning. Bucky's voice, which had shown nothing but anger up until now, gave away his confusion.

Steve offered him the simple truth, "Because you are important."

"Why?" Bucky asked again, sounding even more unsure.

God! That would be a long one. Steve briefly contemplated asking for Bucky to sit down but he soon dismissed the idea, knowing he would be ignored. Instead, he worked on summarizing his answer.

"My world was pretty small growing up," Steve began. "People noticed me after the serum, yeah. And before, I'd get myself noticed but all it always did was getting me a black eye, or worse. But then there was _you_. I had no need to be big or run my mouth, and you saw _me_. You saw me all the same. Saw everything I was, everything I had." His voice wavered and he had to stop to clear his throat. "And you took it. You've always lo- accepted me the way I was. My world was small, but most of it was you. And that was it. I had nothing but I had it all, too. Cause I had you. You're everything."

Steve felt naked, too exposed despite the fact he was fully clothed. Bucky had known all of that once, but even then. Steve never had to say it aloud before. It scared him a little.

"You're codependent," Bucky said matter-of-fact.

Steve didn’t know what answer he had been expecting but it certainly hadn’t been that. It threw him off a little, but it made him breathe easier.

"Tell me about it,” he snorted.

Bucky studied him through narrowed eyes before he declared with a shake of a head, "It's not practical."

"Our life was never about that," Steve explained with a sigh. It was so stupid of him, but he kept forgetting that Bucky didn’t remember their life. Even in the middle of this conversation, his mind still managed to turn a blind eye to the fact Bucky didn’t know him anymore.

It seemed like Bucky was interested, though, because he kept on asking.

"What was it about?" And this time what Steve heard in his voice wasn’t anger or confusion, but curiosity. Good! Steve could work with that. Bucky had always been a curious person. He would never let go once he wanted to know about something.

"Getting each other - well, mostly me - to see another day," Steve answered. "From the moment we met, it was never just about just one of us." He smiled sadly at the memory. Their troubles had felt so big before the war. Little did they know, Steve’s asthma medicine would end up ranking so low on their list of problems.

Bucky contemplated his words for a few seconds before speaking again. "How did you know he felt the same?" The expression on his face didn’t betray what he was feeling.

"Cause you told me," Steve answered, ignoring the third person remark. "You never let me forget. Sometimes I wondered if you were doing it out of some sort of obligation as well. Then you'd remind me."

Bucky looked away from Steve for a moment as his eyes surveyed the bedroom. When he spoke again it was in a whisper. "What would I say?" Bucky asked.  And Steve was sure he didn't notice the way he was referring to himself.

Steve heisted then. Bucky was not ready for that kind of conversation. Steve cursed himself for his lack of tactics; he shouldn't be talking about those things.

Bucky settled his gazed back on Steve. "What?" he asked again, slightly annoyed by the silence.

"You'd say you’d be with me to--"

"Cut the crap, Rogers," Bucky interrupted him. "I may not remember shit but I can still tell you lying. What did I tell you? What was it that makes you so sure about me, even now? What did I say?"

Steve scratched at the back of his neck. Well, he’d walked right into this one, hadn’t he? He decided to tell the truth, it would probably make no difference for Bucky now. Steve was a poor liar anyway, and he wanted Bucky to trust him.

"I love you." Steve said. "That's what you said."

  
-  
So Captain Rogers wanted a reward. Or someone to watch his six. Only he called it love. The Captain seemed to be demanding sentiment along with some sort of security detail.

It let _him_ beyond confused. In his memory, as damaged and fragmented as it was, he was almost certain there was no record of a mission which had required sentiment of any kind, quite the opposite in fact.

He had been stripped, painfully so, of any type of emotion.  He was not sure he could comply with the Captain’s wishes. The only thing he felt these days, besides cold, was fear.

"That’s what you want from me now? To love you?" Perhaps he could try, if that was what Rogers wanted from him. If that was what he had to do in order to be close to Steve Rogers, so be it.

There was something strong and primal drawing him to the man on the bed. He could not put his finger on it, beyond the obvious connection with Bucky Barnes.

But Barnes had died decades ago. Anything related to him should be irrelevant by now, and yet…

It was like the story Rogers had just told him. Now that he was no longer someone’s property, it felt like the Captain was the only thing he had in this world.

On the bed, Rogers’ shoulders slumped in defeat. "It’s not a bargain chip, Buck. Doesn’t work like that."

"I don’t understand," he had to confess. He was used to simpler orders. Mission. Executed target within timetable. Come back.

Rogers shook his head, looking miserable as he did so. He might not be able to demonstrate feelings but he had been trained to exhaustion in how to read people. And the Captain’s sadness didn’t go unnoticed.

"Doesn’t matter, now," the Captain mumbled under his breath.

He felt like he should apologize for some reason, so he did.

A broken smile split Rogers’ face into the picture of heartbreak. “Not your fault.”

Rogers was not going to ask for anything, he realized then. Choosing instead to suffer silently, waiting for a miracle.

Yes, a miracle.

Because nothing short of one would be enough to bring Barnes back to his life.

That was what the Captain wanted, he understood at last.

Suddenly he was hit by a crushing sadness for the man. What a sick joke fate had played on Steve Rogers, as it gave him back only the shell of what he had asked for.

He decided then what his next mission would be. For the first time in as long as he could remember he was choosing his own assignment. It felt good.

It made the reality of his freedom all the more tangible.

He was going to use that freedom to pursue his goal.

He was going to make the Captain happy.

He was going to be James Buchanan Barnes again.

"Give me a month,” he asked after mentally calculated the timetable, breaking the long minutes of silence. 

"What?" Rogers frowned at him, clearly thrown off by the sudden change of topic.

It would be a tight schedule, but it was enough to gather at least some key information about his past. 

Ignoring the question, he asked again for the month, before existing by the same window he had come from.

-  
By an unspoken agreement with himself he decided to leave his appearance as the last thing he would change. For one thing he had no idea what to do with the arm, James Barnes had had two perfect limbs, and he couldn't just grow back another one. So he would worry about that latter. 

And then there was also the fact that the way Barnes' had dressed himself had gone out of fashion a long time ago. Though he guessed Rogers wouldn’t mind the modern style, since he hadn’t clung to the past in that regard either.

He already had all the data from the Smithsonian catalogued and organized in a notebook, but the exhibition had been about the Captain, not him. Although it offered some valuable information, it was not enough to build a profile.

Regular trips to a variety of different libraries proved to be more informative.

But a week later it downed on him that his initial plan of only returning to Rogers once he was Bucky again would not work. For one thing information on Barnes was not as easily available as Rogers' own history. Even if he did feature in most of the Captain's countless biographies. But mostly, he realized belatedly, Steve Rogers was his bigger source of material on his past.

So he resorted to visiting the Captain at a time he was certain to always find him, that was, of course, the middle of the night.

This time he did startled the Captain awake as he opened the window. Rogers jumped on the bed in high alert and he had to control his own instincts to not attack in an instinctive reaction to the sudden moves.

He worked on his breathing as he mentally reminded himself the Captain would not charge against him. They both had had countless chances to kill each other before, and the fact they were still breathing proved that neither wanted the other dead. 

“It’s me,” he said uselessly as the Captain’s eyes settled on him.

“Jesus, Buck!” Rogers panted, pressing a hand to his heart in reflex. Although it was clear he was not about to suffer a heart attack.

He thought about apologizing but knew Rogers would dismiss it, so he forewent politeness and went straight for what he had come for.

"Tell me about us."

-

Steve loved Bucky with all his heart and soul. No one, alive or dead, could ever deny that. But dear God in heaven, Steve was going to smack a pillow on his face if he kept on coming by at 2 a.m.

And it was not just the matter of waking up with a start in the middle of the night. Bucky kept him awake for hours.  He wanted to know every single detail about their past. And Steve was glad to oblige him, every way he could. But he also had to be awake and functioning during the day, and that would just not happen if Bucky didn’t let him sleep.

Only Sam and Natasha – and by her extension Clint, Steve suspected – knew about his meetings with Bucky, neither were really happy about it, but they respected his wishes to leave it alone for now.

But when Stark had made a suggestive comment on who had kept him wide awake the whole night, Steve had immediately felt his cheeks burning, and he was sure he had to be as red as a tomato, as his mind inadvertently connected Bucky to Stark’s the innuendo. Steve was left with the suspicious Tony knew more than he should.

Five nights in a row and Steve had to put his feet down.

“Right, that’s it!” Steve huffed as he sat on the bed and turned on the lamp on the nightstand. “I’m welding that window shut.”

“Would you rather I use the front door?” Bucky asked, and Steve would have laughed if not for the fact he was being serious. As if that was actually the issue.

“Buck, you could open a hole on the celling for all I care, as long as you came by at a more reasonable hour.” Steve shook his head, more amused than annoyed now. “That’s all I asked.”

“I didn’t want to impose on your regular schedule.”

Steve snorted. “Well, you kind of are, Buck. Sleeping _is_ part of my schedule.”

Bucky crossed his arms over his chest defensively. “You should’ve said so.” He gazed at Steve through narrowed eye, but the whole deadly, Winter Soldier glare lost most of its  scary effect, because Bucky was, well, he was pouting a little.

There was nothing murderous about the stubborn set of his lips.

Steve smiled at him, his previous annoyance forgotten, and Bucky just glared harder.

“Look,” Steve started, resting both of his palms down on the bed. “Why don’t you come for dinner?” He tried to reason.  “I’ll be happy to cook for both of us, and I’ll probably be done with whatever I had to do during the day. What do you say?”

Bucky considered his offer for a moment. “Are you sure?”

Steve nodded eagerly. “Course,” he replied with a grin.

Bucky didn’t seem to be sharing his enthusiasm, but at least he had agreed. It was win enough on Steve’s books. He still wasn’t sure what Bucky was doing. Bucky didn’t seemed to enjoy spending time with Steve all that much, but he drank in every last word Steve had to say about him. Steve had even seen him taking notes, more than once.

But Bucky was after information and not much else. Steve didn’t like that very much; even if he _was_ happy that Bucky was showing so many signs that he wanted to get better.

Steve had asked, as subtly as he could, if Bucky had severed his ties with Hydra after their fight. And Bucky had answered, very much _not_ subtly, that he would rip apart – limb by limb – anyone who dared try to enslave him again.  He told Steve he would die before he let anyone lay hands on him again. Steve had stopped asking questions after that.

“Fine,” Bucky said with a shrug. Then before Steve could politely dismiss him so that he could go back to sleep, Bucky spoke again. “Starting tomorrow.” Steve nodded in agreement. “But you are already awake now.”

Steve fought very hard to suppress a groan as Bucky made himself comfortable, sitting cross legged on the floor in front of the bed. 

“Did I already tell about the first time we went to Coney Island?”

-

Their first dinner was pretty uncomfortable.

It was not that Steve didn’t know how to cook; he knew his way around the kitchen pretty well. The problem was what to cook. He contemplated over Bucky’s favorite dishes, but there was nothing specific, Bucky had always enjoyed his food, no matter what he put together.

Steve suspected that it was probably because he worked so damn hard he always came home so hungry it didn’t matter much how it tasted.

But now he wanted to make something that would also help Buck remember. And then _he_ was the one remembering how food tasted back then. He was sure even food with no seasoning didn’t taste that bland anymore.

Steve spent so much time weighting pros and cons of every meal he knew how to make he ended up with not enough time to cook anything at all.

He ordered two pizzas instead.

Steve wasn’t sure if Bucky could still get drunk or not but he chose to play safe and asked for some cokes to be delivered with the pizza.

The food was there before Bucky and Steve had time to set the table and shower before he heard an actual knock on his door and for a moment thought the delivery kid had forgotten something.

But then there was Bucky, using the manners his ma had once taught him.

Steve offered him a broad smile as he invited Bucky in.

Sometime later when they were eating and it was clear Bucky was not comfortable at the table, Steve suggested they moved to the couch. Bucky sat as far away from him as he could without leaving the sofa completely.

“Something wrong?”

“Bad feeling, I can’t shake it off. I keep thinking someone’s gonna snatch the food away from me.”

Well, Bucky certainly didn’t have to worry about Steve doing that, because he was suddenly not hungry at all. His mind began to run all the worst case scenarios of people letting Bucky go hungry. Steve felt a little nauseous at the thought.

“Someone did that to you?” He had to ask.

Bucky shrugged. “Might have, I don’t remember.”

“What do you remember?”

“About food?” Steve himself wasn’t sure if that was what he had meant so he went along with the prompt and nodded. “I don’t think there was a lot of it. I got sick a lot when I tried to eat after I escaped. But I remember needles and tubes, so I guess they just shot me up with whatever I needed to go on.”

Steve pushed the bile down his throat as he set his plate on the coffee table as far away from him as it could get. He wanted to hit something.  

“That’s horrible,” Steve pointed out uselessly. He realized too late that his mood made Bucky tense. “Sorry,” he tried to apologize but it was too late. Steve cursed himself for triggering a bad memory. Bucky had sought him because he wanted stories of his life that didn’t end badly for him, and Steve ruined that.

He tried to compensate by telling a funny story but Bucky left him right after finishing his pizza.

For a brief moment Steve wondered if Bucky would even come back, and his heart skipped a beat when he heard the door at the same time the next day.

“Just don’t ask me anything,” Bucky said as he pushed a giant pizza box on Steve’s arms and bypassed him to enter the apartment.

-

He was having a shit day.

He rated his days in a scale that went from weird day, which was by his standards a normal day; a bad day, when someone went after him and he had to run and hide. One extreme occasion had him having to change apartments. And finally there were the shit days, the ones where he would be randomly struck by a memory.

He hated that.

One would think he'd be grateful for it, given his current mission, but that was not the case. He didn't like the uncertainty of it.

He had better ways to find out about his past, sources that were way more reliable than his own mind. Plus, he never knew what he would get when his brain was the own supplying him. It could be, and for the most part it was, something from the Winter Soldier and not Bucky. And even the Bucky memories left a bitter taste in his mouth when he couldn't control their flow.

He much rather gather the information at his own pace, where he could select what he wanted to know and when.

This morning he woke up with a start, cold sweat clinging the t-shirt he’d been wearing to his body. It took him several minutes to control his breathing and get his heartbeat back to normal.

Slowly, the images from his nightmare started to make sense, like pieces of a puzzle coming together. He was terrified, in the dream, he’d been kneeling and he was so small. God, had he ever been that little? He was a child and he was crying, he realized. A beautiful, blond woman was by his side, she was scared too. But unlike him, she was trying not to show it.

 _“He’ll make it,”_ she whispered as she bent down to wipe a tear from his face. _“I promise.”_

He shook his head, his version from the dream. She didn’t know that, she was lying. She was dead and she was there to take Steve away with her.

He looked out the window and calculated the sun was no more than one hour away from rising. Deeming that acceptable enough he changed his clothes and went to Steve’s.

Ever since he’d started coming for dinner he hadn’t climbed the fire scape at the back of the building to Steve’s window, but the urgency he felt now demanded him to be faster than the old elevator inside.

Rogers was full of shit. Despite his clear empty threat to permanently seal his window he hadn’t even bothered to lock the damn thing.

As soon as his eyes fell on Steve’s sleeping, _breathing_ form on the bed his entire body almost sagged in relief.

He almost jumped out of his skin when the alarm clock on the nightstand began to bip frenetically.

Steve rolled over to shut the damn thing up and, to his credit, didn’t even flinch as he turned to glace at him with bleary eyes. “Mornin’?” Steve mumbled as he sat up.

“I dreamt you were dying,” he blurted, not knowing what else to say. “I was a child and you,” his voice cracked,” you were _dying_.” He wanted to be able to articulate better, but he didn’t know how. That was a kind of pain he didn’t remember feeling it, he was completely unprepared for it.

“I was sick a lot,” Steve explained as he offered him one of those sad smiles. “I pulled through, though.” Steve got up and carefully placed himself just outside his personal space. “It was a long time ago, Bucky. Sorry if I scared you.”

Steve tentatively raised a hand, only to let it drop back by his side. He followed the movement with his eyes and then looked back at Steve.

Acting purely on instinct he flung himself on Steve, wrapping both arms tightly at his middle, while he hid his face on the crock of Steve’s neck.

Steve went completely still for several seconds before slowly putting his arms over his shoulders.

Part of him wondered why he was not feeling trapped. He should be, he was trapped. But somehow he didn’t, he had never felt more secured.

“It’s okay, we’re okay now. We’re safe.” Steve’s mouth was so closed to his ear a shiver went down his body when Steve spoke.

The way Steve smelled, the warmth coming from him, and his soothing voice repeating those same words over and over lulled him to sleep. He had no recollection of how he ended up on Steve’s bed, but that was where he found himself upon waking up. According to the alarm clock he had slept for three hours.

Steve was sitting next to him, one hand still on his shoulder and the other scrolling down a tablet on his lap. “Hey,” Steve smiled warmly, “feeling better?”

He wasn’t sure but he nodded anyway. The whole situation was not completely unfamiliar, but Rogers seemed so at ease one would say they did that every night. He thought back to their first conversation in this bedroom and wondered if that wasn’t exactly the case.

He wondered what would happened if he kissed Steve right then and there. But he couldn’t do that. He was still lacking too much of his old self to be anything Steve would desire.

There was still too much of the man who had shot Captain America and too little of the one who’d once told Steve he loved him.

The way Steve was looking at him suggested that he was waiting for something. Maybe even the kiss _he_ had been contemplating on. It would have to wait though. He didn’t have anything to offer Steve yet. Besides, he did ask for a month.

“I’ll be fine,” he promised, “we’ll be fine.”

-

It took him longer than it should have but one day Steve finally caught up to what Bucky was doing.

He was trying to be himself again, his version from before the war.

And while Steve was more than happy for him, he couldn’t help but to think that Bucky was setting himself up to fail. Steve himself was no longer the person he had been before the war, and he didn’t even mean physically. Bucky didn’t have to fill his old shoes for Steve to like him. Steve hoped to god he knew that.

But just in case he didn’t, Steve decided to point that out for him.

He didn’t want to discourage Bucky, though. He had to be careful how to express himself, the last thing Steve wanted was for Bucky to think Steve was shutting him out, or denying something to him. Bucky had been denied enough things. Steve wasn’t going to be another person taking away a plate of food when he was starving.

Sam was a tactical person, a certified counselor for people with traumas. Sam would know what to do. So Steve asked for his help.

“It seems like he wants to get better,” Sam said as he sat down with his coffee in front of Steve. “Isn’t that the goal here? Get his memories back?”

“ _My_ memories of him. It looks like that’s all he wants.”

“I don’t understand, man. Weren’t you joined at the hip?” He hadn’t had the courage to tell Sam about the nature of his relationship with Bucky yet. Old habits die hard, and Steve was still not comfortable with how open people could be nowadays. “You’re supposed to be an encyclopedia on him.”

“Yeah, but I’m missing I hell lot of entries,” Steve retorted with a sigh. “From Bucky’s ninety odd years on this Earth, I’ve got last than thirty of knowledge.” Steve shook his head. “And he just wants to hear about the good stuff.”

Sam snorted. “Can you blame him?” Steve glared a little at Sam’s unhelpfulness. “Steve, we’re talking about seventy years of being tortured and used like a butcher’s knife over and over. Man, I wouldn’t want to remember that either.” Sam lifted a hand in a placating gesture when Steve opened his mouth to argue. “But I think I finally get your point. You’re concern he's trying to _be_ your old pal Bucky Barnes again. _Exactly_ like he was before.”

Steve nodded. “The war alone changed us to a point of no return. Even if we had made it… if we had come home. We would never be what he’s trying to be again.”

“Steve you have to tell _him_ those things.”

“And how do I do that without crushing his resolution to get better?”

“You can start by assuring him your feelings won’t change.” Sam shot him a knowing grin, raising his cup up to take a sip.  “Maybe throw in those three little words.”

Steve choked on his coffee.

-  
He still had family alive.

Unlike Steve, whose entire family had parish even before him. James Barnes still counted with one living relative.

His parents had outlived him by a few years only. But his sister had lived a full happy life.

Rebecca had gone to college. She became a literature professor and she got married. It took him a while to find her because her name wasn’t Barnes anymore. It was Proctor.

He remembered Becca. Besides Steve, she was the clearest memory he had. And one of the only ones he didn’t mind coming uninvited.

He had cried himself to sleep when it downed on him he had missed on his little sister’s entire life.

He didn’t remember being religious but he thanked god all the same, for keeping Steve around.

Becca had only one kid. His name was George, like their father. And like their father, George had died relatively young, but he didn’t take their bloodline with him. He left Alice Proctor to carry the Barnes’ genes to another generation.

Alice was a single woman in her early thirties who lived alone in Brooklyn and taught English for foreigners at a high school near her apartment.

She was also a war veteran.

He thought about asking Steve if he knew about her, but he soon dismissed the idea. For once he wanted to have something that was only his, other than his and Steve’s like most of his memories seemed to be.

For the moment he had found out about Alice he was hit by an urge to have something that was his alone.

He wasted some days debating on how he would approach her. Unlike Steve, he doubted she would welcome him if he broke in in her place, and the last thing he wanted was to scare her. Besides, she might not know much about her great uncle Bucky, but there was definitely stuff about the Winter Soldier on the internet.

There was no telling if she knew about any of it, sure. But he rather play safe. He was going to present himself like a normal human being – as normal as he could be with the metal arm as the fact he still look young – and he would work the rest from there.

-

His next dinner with Steve he was so distracted with his new resolution to meet Alice that he was having trouble focusing on what Steve was saying.

He kept thinking about how he would approach Alice without coming off as a creep and spoking her. He suddenly realized his clothes would be an issue. Everything he owned now made him look homeless, and he still wasn't ready to cut his hair just yet. He needed something that would make him at least presentable enough not to pass as a hobo.

He realized he had been lost in thought for too long and tune Steve's voice back as he served them both a generous portion of pasta.

"And on Fridays you'd dress as a dame and walk around the apartment in high heels," Steve was saying as he sat down in front of him.

"Hum?" He raised an eyebrow at Steve, and Steve just dropped it and shook his head.

"What's got into you today? You have not listened to a word I said."

"Nothing,” he lied. “Can I borrow some clothes?"

Steve frowned at him. "Sure, Buck. What for? If you don't mind me asking."

"I can't say."  He didn't want to lie to Steve about Alice, but he was afraid Steve would want to stop him. He was, after all, still a fugitive from both Hydra and the authorities. "Don't worry, I won't get in trouble."

“I have to say, Bucky. You saying that makes me worry even more.”

He held Steve’s gaze to make sure he was serious. “I’ll tell you about it when I’m back.” Steve opened his mouth at that, probably to ask where he was going. But he beat him to it and spoke before Steve could. “I can’t tell you where I’m going, but I’ll be back after tomorrow.”

Steve nodded in agreement. “Is this about your past? ‘Cause you know you can ask me anything. I’ll tell you.”

“Thank you, Steve.” Rogers went all soft on him using his first name and he realized that was the first time he did it. It was easier to address Steve like that – he had been doing in his head for some time now – easier than to call himself Bucky, even in his own mind. He’d been mentally trying to use James, but still didn’t come naturally, not like with Steve. “But this one’s not about you.”

It was clear Steve wanted to press for more details but he was too good to do so. So they ate dinner quietly and after, Steve left him to clean up the table while he went to fetch some clothes for him.

Steve came back from his bedroom with a pair of dark pants, a white bottom down and a dark leather jacket. “If you need shoes… uh, I’m not sure we’re the same size,” Steve said as he passed him the bundle.

“The clothes will do, thanks.” He tried his best to smile reassuringly as he glanced down at the clothing in his hands. He could feel Steve’s eyes on him and he realized he had been neglecting Steve’s company all night. He looked up at Steve and this time his smile came a lot easier. “I didn’t really dress like a woman, did I?”

-

He was looking at Becca, he was sure of it.

It was her, the same hair, same shoulders, same stubborn set of jaw. Only… only Becca had never needed a wheelchair. He was pretty sure the last time he saw Rebecca she had both her legs under her. _Then again_ , he thought bitterly as he looked down at his own artificial limb.

But the right leg of the woman in front of him ended just where her knee should be. Unlike him, she didn’t have a prosthetic, hence the chair.

“Alice Proctor?” She made him as soon as he stepped out of the elevator, and lurking was suddenly not an option. Alice was at her front door, coming from work. He knew because he had been following her all day.

“Am I under investigation? You’re tailing me.”

She was good. And she didn’t seem to be afraid of him, despite their being alone and her obvious vulnerability. Stupid. Sure she was related to him, not Rogers? Steve was the one lacking self-preservation. Alice should be afraid. Fear could save lives.

“This is gonna sound strange.” Not a great opening, but he didn’t know what else to say.

Alice just looked at him for several minutes before her mouth opened in an ‘oh’ as something clicked behind her eyes.

“I’ll be damned!” She blinked at him for about three seconds and then turned around to open her door and wheeled herself in. “Come on in, uncle James,” Alice called from inside. “I’ll make us some coffee.”

-

They had been talking for about half an hour and he was pretty sure he hadn’t spoken that much in almost a century. Usually, Steve was the one doing the talking, he didn’t have a lot to contribute on their past, so he normally just kept his mouth shut and listened.

With Alice there was no need to try to be Bucky Barnes, she didn’t know him. She wasn’t expecting anything from him. He had to admit he enjoyed the change. Taking off the pressure meant he could speak a little easier.

Alice had explained to him that after Becca’s passing she inherited everything from her grandma, including an old photo album with pictures of her as a kid with her parents and brother. It wasn’t long before she made the connection between Uncle Bucky who died in the war and former Howling Commando, James Barnes.

There wasn’t much about him on the history books, but Alice had always been fascinated with the army, hence her enlisting. So she knew about her history.

“I wish I’d known sooner, I don’t know why she never said anything,” Alice had commented. And when he pointed out that she wasn’t as freak about the situation as he had expected, Alice just shrugged and said that if Captain America could come back from the dead, why couldn’t him. She had seen weirder shit.

He asked about what she thought of Steve and she unashamedly admitted she had seen him more as an icon than a real soldier. She always thought Steve to be a publicity stunt. He told her she wasn’t entirely wrong, but he did have some memories about the shit he and Steve had to do in Europe, and those would never be on paper.

He felt like he had to go to Steve’s rescue on that one. “He’s a real soldier. I don’t think he knows about you, he’d be here if he did.” He told Alice some more things about Steve, all recent memories. And he couldn’t help but wonder why Steve had never sought the Barnes after he woke up. But then again, everyone who had once known Steve was already dead.

After some time he could no longer ignore his curiosity so he went and asked, “What happened?”

“Afghanistan, 2008.” She shook her head. “Stupid, stepped on a mine. What about you?” she asked nodding at his arm.

“Seems like the war is out to get the Barnes,” he remarked with a snort. “I fell off a train,” he hesitated a little before adding, “in 45.”

She didn’t pry as he had expected, though. Instead she studied the arm with a mix of curiosity and something else he couldn’t pin point.

After a moment she seemed to have reached a verdict. “Looks expensive,” she shrugged.

“Believe me, I more than paid for it.” So many years; he literally couldn’t remember. He paid long a hard for the goddamn thing. And he was pretty sure he didn’t even ask for it. “Wasn’t cheap,” he mumbled under his breath, more to himself than to Alice, though she clearly heard him.

And she didn’t seem very pleased about it.

“Yeah, well. Some of us just can’t afford it.”

“I –” he began, only to close his mouth when he couldn’t find a follow up.

For the first time he wondered if she actually knew who he was; beyond, of course, a relative who was supposed to be long dead.

“You do know who I am, right?”

Alice shot him a wary look, but if she was scared of him she hid it pretty damn well. “You’re an enhanced Russian mercenary.” She hesitated a little around ‘Russian’, but otherwise she seemed very much certain of what she was saying. “You tried to kill Captain America in DC.”

He visibly flinched at that and she noticed. Shame burned his cheeks as he averted his gaze.

“What kind of asshole tries to off Cap?” Her tone was teasing and when he looked up again she was smirking at him.

He liked Alice Proctor. He liked her very much.

-

Since he didn’t have to worry about being home in time for dinner today, Steve took the opportunity to go visit Peggy.  He hadn’t been there in a while.

He sat down on the ground and told her everything that had happened since Bucky came back. He promised he would do right by him this time around; and he would take care of Peggy’s legacy, even if S.H.I.E.L.D. didn’t really exist anymore. He would rebuild it if he had to. Peggy’s work would not go to waste.

Natasha was waiting for him when he left the cemetery.

“How’s James?”

“Getting better.”

“Where exactly?” Steve arched an eyebrow at her and she responded with a smirk. “What? If there’s a spa to recover from brainwash I’d like to know.”

“He’s okay, and he’ll be back soon,” Steve reassured her. She was still suspicious of Bucky, but that was because she knew a lot more about his past than she let on. Steve didn’t push her to talk about it, though. But he had a feeling one day Bucky would want to hear what she had to say.

“You are sure of it, aren’t you?” Steve nodded. “Good.” Natasha hooked an arm on his and set them both to the opposite direction of Steve’s apartment.  “Let’s go grab some ice cream.”

Steve exhaled loudly. “Sam talked to you, didn’t he?” Not that Steve minded all that much. If he did, he would have asked Sam to keep it a secret. “I hope this is not an intervention. I won’t stop seeing Bucky.”

“Well, I want you to see a lot of Bucky.” Natasha smiled at him. “I just want to show that you can.”

Nat took him for several places full of couples – the ice cream shop being one of them – and most of those couples were made by people of the same sex. They all acted well, normal. They didn’t flinch or try to hide when someone else passed them by. They held hands and exchanged kisses out in the open.

Steve had heard about changes, but up until that moment he hadn’t seen it. Now, he wasn’t naïve, he knew about the violence and bigotry that lurked around the corner, but that was pretty small compared to what he had grown up with.

The main thing was, people were free to love who they want. That was what Nat wanted him to see.

“Thank you,” he said when she dropped him off at the front of his building.

“For what?” she smirk as she turned around to head back to wherever her place was.

-

Steve was dying to hear about what it was that Bucky did the day before. But he refrained from asking.

Bucky brought dinner with him this time and Steve left him to set the cartons of Chinese food on the coffee table while he picked some Cokes from the kitchen.

When he came back, Bucky was holding the sketchbook Steve had forgotten there the night before. It was open on the page with a half-finished drawing of Peggy. Bucky’s eyes were shinning with something that couldn’t be anything other than recognition.

“Did you love her?” He asked, glancing from Steve back to de drawing.

“I do,” Steve answered without hesitation as he put the cans down.

Bucky shot him a look that seemed almost like hurt, and put the sketchbook back on the table, though far from the food. “I thought you loved Bucky.” The reverse to the third person, something he hadn’t done since the first night he had broken in, served as confirmation that Bucky was indeed hurt by Steve’s confession.

“I do too,” Steve reassured him with a smile. Steve’s love was present tense for both of them, it would always be.

“But,” Bucky began, but he didn’t elaborate any further. Steve felt like he should explain himself. He sat down and gestured for Bucky to do the same.

“It was a different time. A fella could get in real trouble.” Steve shook his head, displeased at the memory, even more so after everything he saw yesterday with Nat. “Not that I cared, if it was just me,” he clarified. “I wouldn’t give a shit about what people thought.”

Steve had grown up with people assuming the worst of him. He was the son of an immigrant, no father, too skinny, too short, and too sickly. He could have added queer to it, it wouldn’t have made much of a difference when he was getting punch for one reason or another. But Bucky was a different story.

“But I couldn’t risk you. I would never do anything that’d put you in harm’s way.” As soon as the words were out Steve realized what a lie that was. He’d dragged Bucky across a frozen warzone, he’d put him on that train.

Bucky seemed to have been reading his thought, though, because he shook his head and fixed Steve with an intense glare. “The war was not your fault. Nothing that happened there was.” But it was his next words that made Steve’s breath caught in his throat. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

Steve just nodded at him, grateful beyond words for Bucky, and everything that he was.

“We would’ve found ourselves a couple of girl to get married to,” Steve continued once he found his voice again. “We would’ve made a way to be happy with what we had. We always did.”

“I think he was happy enough,” Bucky mumbled, “having you.”

Bucky didn’t think he had him now, Steve noticed. That was the reason he kept reverting to his past self as someone else. He didn’t think Steve loved him right now.

He didn’t know Steve loved him now.

Steve took one of his hands and squeezed. He needed to say it. Images from all he had seen the day before kept replaying themselves on his head. 

Bucky was looking at their joined hands as if he were expecting something out of ordinary to happen from the contact. Steve ran his thumb over the back of Bucky’s hand. “I –”

“No,” Bucky interrupted him and Steve looked back up to see Bucky staring back at him. “Not yet.” Bucky took his hand out of Steve’s and began to fumble with the food.

Steve wasn’t sure if they were on the same page about what had just happened, but he guessed it wouldn’t be far-fetched to think so. He let it drop and focused on the cartons as well, though he fully intended on talking about it again soon. More than ever before Steve needed Bucky to know he didn’t have to be anyone else to be loved. Not even if the person was him.

-  
There was something different in the air when he got to Steve’s the next day. After Steve let him in he realized the difference was _literally_ in the air.

For one thing he couldn’t smell anything related to food. And while it wasn’t unusual for Steve to choose take outs or pizza over cooking, there weren’t even cartons around. Either Steve’s delivery was late or he hadn’t order anything, which was odd.

Steve made a point of putting as much food on him as he could. He had a feeling that if it wasn’t for his enhanced metabolism he’d be overweighed already.

And second, Steve was… Steve was using perfume. It was subtle, but very much there.

“Uh, you going out?” he asked. Was he also experiencing problems with his short-term memory now? He was certain Steve hadn’t said anything about not being able to make it today. And sure, Steve shook his head in confirmation.

“Sorry, I thought we could do something different today.” Steve smiled sheepish.

“ _We_ ’re going out?”

“Yep,” Steve confirmed as he put on a dark blue jacket.

He was still wearing the one Steve had lend him. It was so comfortable; he couldn’t bring himself to return it just yet. And Steve seemed to like seeing him in it, so…

“Where?” Despite Steve’s clear enthusiasm he couldn’t help the dread feeling of being somewhere crowded or a place he couldn’t see all exists. He would have to put his feet down if Steve was taking him to the movies.

Steve saw the way he tensed up and quickly put him at ease.

“There’s a – a park, a few blocks from here. I run there sometimes.” And by sometimes he knew Steve meant every day at the crack ass of dawn, but he didn’t comment. “It’s pretty quiet.”

A quiet, open space. He could do that. “Right, then. Lead the way.” He gesture to the door.

The park was indeed a peaceful place. It seemed to be just them out there, and after they rounded the place two times he stopped looking over his shoulders.

“We used to do this a lot.” Steve broke the silence that had fallen between them after leaving his apartment. “Didn’t have money for much else, so we would walk until our feet hurt or it got too cold for my shitty lungs.”

It was a bit funny hearing Steve swear, he seldom did.

“What else would we do,” he prompted, “when there was no money?”

Steve went very quiet for a few seconds, for a moment he thought he had said something he shouldn’t but when he looked at Steve he noticed the blush on his cheeks. But Steve was smiling through it.

“We’d neck,” Steve confessed at last. “We had to be dead quiet, ‘cause the walls were paper thin.” Steve stopped and turned so that he would be in front of him. He held Steve’s gaze as well as his own breath, waiting, hoping for more. “And,” Steve said, suddenly a lot closer. “We had to swallow each other’s noises,” Steve whispered, “just to make sure no one else would hear.”

Steve’s eyes were searching for something on his and he didn’t even dare to blink.

“I’ve always loved you, Buck. That has not changed. That will _never_ change.”

He let out a shaky breath. “But –” His heart was beating so fast he could barely hear anything else.

“It’s not pity, it’s not guilt. I’m not chasing shadows. I want whatever you want to give me.” Steve made a move, and for a moment he thought Steve was going to kiss him, but all he did was take hold of both his hands. “Don’t feel like you have to do this; don’t feel like you have to do anything for me to love you.” Steve shook his head, squeezing his hands at the same time. “My love is unconditional and you’ll have me no matter what.”

He bit down on his bottom lip then. His eyes stung as if he had gone too long without blinking, and when he did so he felt something warm run down his face.

Steve was the picture of heartbreak in front of him.

He disentangled one of his hands – the metal one, it would help with what he had to say – from Steve’s, and brought it up to rest on Steve’s cheek. He licked his lips and felt the salty taste of his tears. “God, how can I ever be worthy of you?” Steve leaned into his touch as he closed his eyes. Steve was trying to block himself from pain. He realized Steve was bracing for a rejection. “Sometimes I don’t know if what I feel for you is his or mine,” he confessed.”

“Does it matter?” Steve asked softly, opening his eyes again.

“I don’t know,” he admitted brokenly. Wasn’t that the problem? He didn’t know. He didn’t fucking know anything. Steve might claim to have no expectations, but he knew it would break Steve’s heart every time he didn’t know what to do, or what to say. Steve would give him one of those goddamn sad smiles every time he had to admit not knowing the way Bucky used to touch him.

He wanted to make Steve happy. He was failing.

It was time to change tactics then. He had no option but to go with what Steve wanted. He was going to let Bucky Barnes rest in peace.

Leaning forward he touched his lips to Steve’s and stayed there for a few seconds. Not moving, not doing anything but breathing Steve’s sent in. Steve was completely frozen where he stood.

When he let go he rested his forehead on Steve’s.

Steve was looking at him with wide eyes. Steve just stared for a few seconds and then stepped back. He shot Steve a confused look and then Steve was offering his hand out.

“Steve Rogers.” He frowned from Steve’s outstretched hand to his grinning face. “Nice to meet you.”

He chuckled softly as he realized what Steve was doing. He also realized Steve was right, it didn’t matter if he loved Steve as Bucky or as whatever he was now. He loved Steve, no matter what , and that was why. Steve would fight for him, for _them_ , because he saw something there that was worth it. And Steve would start over again if he had to.

“Nice meeting you.” He shook Steve’s hand at last. “James Barnes.” And then he thought of something he didn’t want to let go and added, “But you can call me Bucky.”

-

He walked hand in hand with Steve for about an hour after their talk. None of them said much after that, but once they got back to Steve’s he stopped at the front of the building and told Steve he wouldn’t come up.

Everything was still too soon. To be honest he wasn’t ready to move forward just yet. He didn’t want to disappoint Steve, even though he was certain Steve would never push him to do anything. He liked the baby steps they were taking and he wanted to keep on doing that.

Steve, as expected, completely understood, and he left him promising to be back at the same time tomorrow. Part of him still wanted to hear the stories, though now he knew it was more because of the way Steve’s face would go soft and dreamy when he spoke. Steve loved talking about their past and he suspect there weren’t that many people in his life with whom Steve could share that.

It was therapeutic for both of them.

Doubt, though, as the snake it was, slithered itself back to his brain once he got to his apartment. But different from a week ago, when he only had Steve to talk to, now he could bother someone else with his shit. And he intended to.

He used to have handlers to take care of whatever problems would prevent him from performing at his best. This was a completely different situation, but still. This time around he could actually count on the people he was leaning on. And more importantly, he had chosen them to be around.

He dialed Alice’s number, not really bothering about the time.

She cursed him when she picked up.

“Kido, I wanna talk about boys.”

Alice snorted loudly. “Don’t worry, I haven’t played doctor in a long time.”

“That’s not it,” he sighed frustrated. He didn’t know how to approach this. From what Steve told him, it was something not even Bucky talked about to other people. “I shouldn’t even be talking about these things. And over the phone!”

“Relax, grandpa.” She had a weird ability of reading him, despite the fact they barely knew one another. “Of all the things you did I’m pretty sure the last thing people will care about is that you like dick.”

“Go wash your mouth with soap, Alice.” His cheeks were burning, and he was sure she knew that, even if she couldn’t see him.

Alice just laughed over the line. “Seriously, though,” she said after he more or less explained the reason he had called. “If that’s what’s holding you back, just don’t.”

“It’s not,” he admitted. “That never stopped us before.” Of that much he was sure even before Steve’s confirmation. “It’s just that… I’ll never be that man again,” he confessed for the first time, as much as to himself as to Alice. “The man he loved.” Alice didn’t ask who _he_ was. She was a smart woman.

“Bullshit. You _are_ the man he loves, James.”

He shook his head, even if she couldn’t see him, then he let out long, heavy sigh. “But I’ve changed so much.” It was one of the reasons Steve’s gesture at the park had meant so much to him. It was Steve accepting him as someone other than Bucky, but still… “Beyond recognition.”

“James.” Alice refused to call him Bucky, claiming it to be a stupid name. “Everybody changes, even if bad shit doesn’t happen to them.” She spoke with such certainty it made him want to believe her. “Change’s natural. It’s how we evolve.”

He ran his hand through his hair, absently thinking it was time to have it cut. “Do you think Steve an’ I –” He left the question open, hoping Alice would pick it up.

“Sounds like he’s just waiting for you to make a move.”

“God, that’s scary,” he admitted. Back at the park he had acted on impulse. But to actually pursue a relationship? Did he even know how to do that?

Alice chuckled. “It usually is.” Totally unhelpful, but if that was really how most people felt he was more normal than he’d thought. “I’m going back to sleep now. Enjoy your night having dirty thought over a national icon.”

She hung up before he could even think of a reply.

-

Somewhere along the way between the end of the month he had asked Steve and the eleven others that followed James had stopped looking for Bucky. He would never be able to point out the exact moment when it happened, but he had his intel, he had some scattered memories and, most importantly, he had Steve’s stories, and James was finally contented with having just that.

Sometimes Steve would tell him his mannerism and some quirks hadn’t changed. But most of all he learnt to like the person he was now. And he accepted Bucky hadn’t been perfect either.

When he went to the barber’s shop he didn’t take Bucky’s photo with him like he had intended at first. And he left with his hair only a few centimeters shorter, though his beard was gone.

Steve seemed to have enjoy the hair cut along with James’s shaved face and the generally more put together style. James had to admit that he himself was starting to like what he saw on the mirror.

Steve had smiled shyly, and looked at him through his lashes as he said, “You look very handsome, Buck.”

James had mumbled an embarrassed thank you and changed the topic of their conversation, though he did kiss Steve goodnight before he left that day.

He had taken to heart Steve’s and his new beginning that night at the park. And without the pressure of trying to be Bucky Barnes, James felt a lot more at ease to simple court Steve.

And as fate would have it, he was pretty much flirting like a man from the forties. Or at least an old man in general, according to Alice.

Not that James could count all the much with her advices. She was a pretty good listener, but she gave terrible feedback. No, jumping Steve’s bones was not an acceptable way to end a date.

That woman was full of shit, but she was family and James came to love her too along the way. Eventually, he also got over the irrational fear of introducing her to Steve.

When James approached the subject, though, Steve went completely pale.

“I never, I –” Steve had stuttered. He looked so guilty out of the sudden. “I thought – I thought everyone we knew was dead. I never thought to look for other relatives. I – I’m so sorry, Buck.”

“She’s Becca’s grandkid. Her last name’s different,” he explained to Steve. “You don’t owe her anything, Steve,” James had reassured him.

It had taken some time to dissuade Steve from his completely misplaced sense of guilt. And then James had a taste of what Steve had probably felt for him when James was feeling like shit for not remembering.

And once Steve stopped unnecessarily freaking out, James arranged a meeting between the two most important people in his life.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Proctor,” Steve had said, polite as a church boy as he shook Alice’s hand. “Thank you for your service.” James had to hide a snort under a fake cough.

“Right back atcha, Cap,” Alice had smirked in reply. And then she went on to ask Steve about James’ most embarrassing memories.

They bonded like a house on fire and James regretted all of his decisions.

He had never been happier.

-

After Bucky introduced him to his family, Steve wanted to do the same. Only there was a lot more people for him to introduce, and Bucky had tried to kill some of them.

Steve had prepared for awkwardness and suspicious looks when he arranged a dinner. Stark offered the Tower and Steve didn’t even fight him over it, because his apartment just hadn’t been made for that many enhanced people.

Steve’s offer to cook had also been declined and he just dropped any other request, accepting that the whole thing had been out of his hands from the moment he gave in on the first place.

Everyone reacted better than he had expected, as it turned out. Sam had forgiven Bucky long ago, and he made that known when Bucky formally asked for it.

Nat pulled Bucky aside a talked to him for about half an hour, in which – from where Steve saw whenever he glanced at them – Bucky had gone pale, blushed bright red, and gone pale again. But his stance was a lot more relaxed once he finally came back to Steve’s side.

“You, okay?” Steve had asked.

“Yeah,” Buck had sighed as if he had just realized it himself. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

Clint and Bruce welcomed him like a friendly new acquaintance.

And Stark was his regular self, which ended up working well for the situation. Bucky hated when people walked on eggshells around him. Tony’s fascination for Bucky’s arm was a bit unsettling but Buck handled it pretty damn well.

“I could make you another one if you want,” Tony had asked after several minutes of bluntly staring.

Instead of reacting with a sarcastic come back, like Steve had been expecting, Bucky shot Stark another question. “Can you make a leg?” Steve knew where he was going with it, but it was fun to watch the confusion on Tony’s face, so he didn’t come forward to clarify.

Tony gave Bucky a thoroughly once over. “Yours looks fine, but if the pirate look is more your thing…” he had said with a shrug.

“It’s not for me.” Bucky had then told Stark about Alice and within a month Alice was receiving her brand new StarkTech prosthesis. She had tried to disguise it, but she had tears in her eyes the day she gave her first step with the help of the physical therapist some time later.

Steve took Alice and Bucky to a restaurant to celebrate, and Bucky was so happy he didn’t bother being in a semi-closed space full of strangers. They took her home after and by unspoken agreement went back to Steve’s place.

It was late when Steve finally pushed his front door open, but neither of them was sleepy yet, still too full of energy from everything that had happened during the day.

“I’m really proud of you,” Steve said once he and Bucky were sitting side by side on the couch. They had been slowly gravitating closer towards each other and now Steve could reach out and hold Bucky’s hand, or squeeze his shoulders whenever he wanted. He found himself suddenly wanting for more.

Bucky held Steve’s hand and used it as a lever to pull himself closer. “Thank you.” Bucky shifted on the couch so that they would be face to face. He grinned sweetly at Steve, as he leaned forward.

Steve held his breath in anticipation.

Bucky was suddenly very, very close. Steve could count his lashes. “Thanks for believing in me, Stevie,” Bucky whispered against his mouth, right before he closed the almost inexistent gap between them.

Steve brought his right hand to rest at the back of Bucky’s head, and he couldn’t help but run his fingers through Bucky’s soft hair.

Bucky groaned softly and Steve opened his mouth a bit more to swallow the sound.

God, how he had missed this! Being careful not to make Bucky feel trapped Steve used his free hand to explore and relearn every part of Bucky’s body. And Bucky not only let him, he reciprocated. Their mouths were sealed together, but their hands where free and Bucky used his to make an expedition of his own.

Steve shivered from the cold of the metal, and moaned at the contrast with the warm of Bucky’s flash hand.

Eventually Steve found himself on his back and Bucky’s mouth had finally left his, only to go leave markes that would fade too soon on the tender skin of Steve’s neck.

They didn’t go any further than the passionate make out, but Steve couldn’t be happier. He rested against Bucky’s chest and grinned at him when they came up for air.

Steve’s mind wondered back to the first time Bucky had approached him. He’d gone a long way to where they were now. Steve would rather have a less bumpy road, but he was so damn proud of Bucky.

Bucky kissed him back to the present. “You think too much, Rogers.”

Steve scoffed. “One of us has to.”

“I’ll show you something about thinking,” Bucky said with smirk, a hand hovering suspiciously over Steve’s ticklish ribs. “I can make you stop.”

And damn right he did.


End file.
